The False Chronicles: Weaving a Story
by Nabiki GMYW
Summary: A stranger lands in Elisa Maza's precinct proclaiming the End of Everything, a green lady with pink hair makes an appearance and Owen Burnett is up and about. Chapter 2 (of 8) – Weaving a Story


**The False Chronicles**

_Chapter Two – Weaving a Story_

By Nabiki GMYW

Brief summary: A stranger lands in Elisa Maza's precinct proclaiming the End of Everything, a green lady with pink hair makes an appearance and Owen Burnett is up and about. Chapter 2 (of 8) – Weaving a Story

Disclaimer: Gargoyles belong to Disney. Everybody else is MINE, MINE, MINE! Email at paganj@caribe.net  This is Chapter Two of a series. If you haven't read Chapter One, well, you're screwed.

The music boomed through the motel room and the neighbors next to him yelled some obscenities through the walls. Basically, he yelled back at them to be quiet, in far less kind words. Honestly, these people had no respect for the classics.

The music was nothing less but the Beatles, the greatest hits album. Ah, he had such a weakness for excellence. The CD was new, and so was the boom-box. Most of the new clothes he bought were still in the bags, but he had no intention of putting them in the closet. He had a feeling he wouldn't spend more time in this motel. No more than a day, in fact, before they tracked down the credit card.

With that in mind, he took out Mike de Vita's credit card and tore it in half. He had taken a big chance going in a shopping spree and paying for the motel with it, so it had worn out its usefulness. No matter. He still had Johanna Riker, Dave Flintlock and Tony Montaner's respective credit cards. So broke he was not. And last but not least, he had Celine Brault's credit card. But that last one he kept for special purposes.

He flopped into the bed and it creaked loudly. He had to leave this motel and not a moment too soon. The cockroaches were beginning to get on his nerves. He was accustomed to finer things, like Armani and Versace. This room was an attack on his good taste.

Dismissing his complaints about the place, he flopped in the bed and picked up his deck of cards. Quickly, he started shuffling, bending them, twisting them all around. After he elaborately shuffled them for a few minutes, he spread them along the bed like a fan. Randomly, he picked a card.

"The Joker," he said, "Lester Kramer, you've still got it!"

Lester Kramer put the Joker back with the deck and shuffled them some more. Playing with his cards was incredibly relaxing and it helped him think. What to do next, what to do next. But he wasn't about to hurry up either. Everything was going according to plan and he needn't rush. Besides, it was his saying that one had to stop for a moment and smell the roses. And _man_ do they smell fine.

He knew he was being cocky, but Lester Kramer thought he had a right to gloat. Everything had turned out so simple, so easy. The late, unlamented Celine Brault had provided the key. It was her personnel files. Everything was there. _He was there._

The only real problem he had faced was that the subject had been unavailable. Until now, that is. Just as predicted, he had returned, no doubt to finish it. Everything had been preordained from the start, ever since man came into the world. He would come back. Sooner or later, he would've come back.

And Lester Kramer was here to stop him.

_I'm so sorry to spoil your plans, Titania, Queen of Avalon. But since I'm the one with the power, your opinion or desires matter little to me. The key to the beginning and the end, the alpha and the omega, is going to be mine. All creation will dance to the music I play…_

_…just pray I don't make you dance flamenco…_

PART ONE

The amazing images danced in the screen and he could barely take it in. Robots blew up, chucks of stone flew in the air and those creatures, those strange creatures…

David Xanatos, endlessly amused at the expression in his face, served as a narrator to the video. He sat behind his big black desk with a remote control and started to explain. "They're called gargoyles. Yeah, that's right. The urban legends are true. They sleep in stone by day and walk among the living at night. Long story. One I'll be glad to tell you."

Dennis Anderson stared aghast at the pictures as the images started to focus on one creature at the time. Apparently, there were round seven of them. Five males, one female and a…dog. A really horrendous dog. "The name is Bronx. Don't mind him, he's a puppy." Xanatos said.

The images started to focus on one creature —one gargoyle at the time, and Xanatos began to introduce them. The first picture focused on a red one with a mane of white hair and the beak of a pterodactyl. "This one is Brooklyn. Started like a hormonal teenager and became leader of the clan —that's what they call their family— nice guy, probably the only one with a sense of humor."

The picture changed again to a big fat gargoyle with blue skin, holding a sandwich. Probably not his best angle. "Broadway, his second in command. Throws his weight around—lousy pun not intended."

The third one showcased an olive green one, considerably smaller and shorter than the others. "Lexington. The most technological savvy of them all. The only creature within a hundred mile radius that can actually program a VCR. Don't let the size fool you, he's a tough little thing."

Next, another male gargoyle, who looked brownish and into his years appeared. "Hudson. Oldest of the bunch, enjoys Saturday Night Live and Matlock. Stays back watching TV most of the time, but he can be a real menace if he puts his mind to it."

Finally, a female appeared. She was pretty, in that gargoyish way she had. Lavender skin and long black hair. "Angela. I honestly don't know much about her, but she's the daughter of Demona, a flipping crazy gargoyle that wants to destroy humanity. Long story, but I don't want to bore you. She's also daughter of the former leader…which brings us to the last one…"

An imposing gargoyle appeared, probably the bodybuilder of the clan. He was lavender and had black hair, and in this particular picture, he was crushing the skull of a metal robot with his bare hands. "He's the one called Goliath. Don't let the picture fool you…" Xanatos said, "He is…was… a nice guy." He paused for a moment, suddenly thoughtful. "He used to be the leader until he passed away recently… trying to help me, actually." 

Xanatos turned off the TV and leaned back in his chair. His thoughts lingered in the last one for a moment, then he pushed them away. The millionaire felt tempted to add something else, but he couldn't find the words, something that happened all too often nowadays. He chose to add nothing and went on.

"Collectively, they're known as gargoyles. You've probably heard the rumors, everybody in Manhattan has. They're not evil as they look. In fact, they take it upon themselves to protect the city and the humans in it. Of course, the humans don't understand and tagged them as the enemy. But a few people out there know the truth… like Detective Maza."

            "She _knows_?"

            "Oh, yeees…" Xanatos replied, "She's the one keeping them hidden from the public eye."

            "And how come _you_ know?"

            "Why, I woke them up. To make a tedious story short: about a thousand years ago, a magician put a curse on them that didn't allow them to wake up from the stone sleep during the night. In other words, they would be stone forever until the castle they protected rose 'above the clouds.' And I decided to break that spell."

            "The castle? _This castle? _That's_ why this building is the tallest in the world? Just because you wanted to break their spell?" Somehow, Dennis didn't picture him as _that_ altruistic._

            "Correct." Xanatos replied, "But I'm not afraid to admit I did it with ulterior motives. And I made an enemy of the clan."

            Dennis blinked as the truth clicked in his mind. "That's why Detective Maza hates you. Because you are their… enemy." He said so with a surprised and worried tone.

            Xanatos didn't appreciate the way he phrased it, but he didn't deny it. "It's true. And their anger is warranted. But I like to think that now we're in…a truce."

            "Why?"

            Like it seemed to happen a lot lately, Xanatos wanted to say one thing but ended up saying another. "My heart isn't into it anymore." He said; something of a half-truth.

            Trying to process all the information, Dennis didn't even bother wondering about the change of heart. Another more pressing question was in his mind. "_Why are you telling me this?"_

            At this, Xanatos smiled enigmatically. "I feared we might have an encounter with the gargoyles because of Elisa Maza, but now my fear is confirmed. You see… I know Owen's family. I know how they think. I get the feeling something's very, very wrong, and knowing the gargoyles, they won't resist butting in. Knowing my rotten luck in these matters, I'm going to need all the help I can get."

            "Do they 'butt in' in your personal business a lot?"

            "Mister, the stories I could tell…"

            "But why tell _me_?"

            "Well," Xanatos shrugged, "I figured that if the world is going to hell, you might as well know why."

*                         *                          *

_Really? Dennis wanted to tell him at the moment, _I thought you told me so I got involved in this mess to a degree I can't escape or say what I know…__

A stupid joke crossed his mind, on something he read a long time ago. Is there life out there in the universe… and do they party like us?

A whole day had passed and he still hadn't wrapped his mind around the existence of living stone statues flying around in Manhattan. It was knowledge he could've done without. He had been perfectly happy in his ignorance, thankyouverymuch, and the last thing he needed was worrying about running into wild… whatevers… in this bizarre castle. So much for smooth sailing in this job. Yes, he'd known since day one things were not well in the company… but _gargoyles_?

He didn't believe Xanatos. Rather, he didn't know if he should. For all he knew, David Xanatos was testing him somehow for his own perverse amusement. Maybe this was like a frat house and this was part of some bizarre initiation into the little club because… _gargoyles? __Real gargoyles?_

The more he thought about it, the more he thought Xanatos was some sort of mad millionaire guy like in the movies. He knew rich people were a strange, inhuman lot. An aristocratic lady in the 16th century killed young women and bathed in their blood because she thought it gave her youth and—

Well, the point was that Xanatos was getting spooky on him. It was like hearing about your girlfriend's ex-boyfriends. There's some stuff you just _don't_ want to know. And Dennis _really_ didn't want to whether his boss hanged out with people in rubber suits and what they did when they got together.

_'Nothing to do with me'_ was his new mantra.

Maybe the worst part was that he couldn't talk about it. His old friend Melquisedec would've been able to help him figure it out, but he didn't dare mention it. He didn't want to get on Xanatos bad side, for he had warned him bad things would happen to him if the secret got out. Well, he didn't actually _say_ it in so many words, but the hint was enough.

Who cared, really? Gargoyles. Magic spells. Castles in the air. Not that anyone would believe him, right? He wasn't sure he believed to begin with, so he was far from telling anyone about the gargoyles, just in case this turned out to be false and he had utterly destroyed his career and credibility.

He decided to stop thinking about it or else everything would stop making sense. _Nothing to do with me.__ Learn it. Live it. Love it._

Instead, he went to the infirmary. Xanatos had told him to go check on Mr. Burnett, though Dennis didn't want to be around him anymore than he wanted to be with Xanatos. He felt trapped in a game he had no interest in participating.

But he here was. Stuck in a castle full of smoke and mirrors.

Besides trying to work out the logistics about the existence of magic in his scientific worldview, he also had to deal with another mystery, this one with a name and a face. Mr. Owen Burnett, missing for three months, had suddenly appeared in Castle Wyvern's courtyard after what had been called the worst rain in New York's history.

No explanations as how he got there. Or why he had David Xanatos' son with him.

Oh, yes. Because he had appeared with a little baby. He looked too young to be Xanatos' child, but there was no other explanation to the way Xanatos looked at him and cared for him. Alex was his name. Alexander Fox Xanatos. Another mystery had been born.

_Nothing to do with me, nothing to do with me, nothing to do with me…_

They had called and informed that Mr. Burnett was conscious and anxious to leave, and for some reason, Xanatos sent him instead of going himself. What the hell was he going to tell the guy?

Tired and sick of thinking about it, he stepped out of the elevator and into the white hallway of infirmary. Dennis had been a bit surprised to find one inside the building, but now he knew better than to question its purposes.

He found Mr. Burnett up and about, talking to a man in a black winter coat jacket by a dead end of the hallway. They were having some sort of heated discussion. That wasn't right; Mr. Burnett shouldn't have to put up with that man in his condition. Just where were the nurses? And who was that man?

Either way, he stood from afar, watching them talk. He didn't know Burnett and he felt it rude to interrupt.

But then the stranger grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed Burnett against the wall all too violently. And Dennis _had_ to intervene. He quickly ran up to the pair and pulled them apart. "Hey!" he snapped to the stranger, "Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"

The stranger shot Dennis a look, taken completely by surprise. _Odd,_ Dennis thought, _He has Mr. Burnett's odd eyes…_

*                      *                       *

"Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"

Owen Burnett stood there, mortified beyond reason, as a man with shaggy hair popped out of nowhere and shouted a cliché to Lord Oberon, Lord of Avalon and Master of the Third Race.

Of course, the lord wasn't being his usual blue self. He looked like a normal human, for once, albeit one with white hair. He had a black trench coat and matching gloves, just like last time. He was relatively unremarkable-looking today. But he hadn't reduced his strength and in a fit, he grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall.

He felt absolutely under his power. Being jerked about didn't aid his feeling of utter helplessness. How foolish of Puck to actually think this was going to be a better day than yesterday.

Yesterday. Yesterday had been really something. He remembered babbling incoherently in a daze and that every inch of his body ached. Being hurled into the Real World rudely like he had been, it was a miracle he hadn't broken anything in this frail human body.

He could understand why Oberon was so enraged with him. He'd lost a day just getting better in the infirmary. Of course, if he hadn't been tossed so violently into his mirror, this waste of time could've been avoided. 

He wasn't going to tell that to Oberon's face, however. Well, not in so many words, anyway. He was in enough trouble. 

            Still, he But he couldn't help but sound a bit cross when he said, "I'm sorry, milord. The trip here made me indisposed for the night. But I woke up fine today—"

            "Excuses ill-behoove you, trickster!" Oberon had snapped. "But let it be a warning to you about the life you planned to leave behind! Any little thing and you are already—"

            "Milord, I—"

            "_Shut up when I'm talking to you!"_

It was then when Oberon pushed him against the wall and the guy showed up. "Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"

Owen Burnett snapped out of his memories, for all life suddenly flashed before his eyes. Aghast like his master, he too stared at the odd fellow, that stupid, stupid man that had just crossed a being that could send him to the middle of the sun.

Oberon hadn't even let go of his servant when his eyes widened, and in a burst that was unbecoming of a king, snapped out loud, "Who the hell are _you_!?"

The man didn't squirm, but had he known who Oberon was, he probably should've or known to pretend to squirm. His ignorance was palpable, but that didn't stop him from looking foolhardy in Owen's eyes as he said, with a slightly uppity tone Oberon couldn't possibly tolerate, "Well, I'm Dr. Anderson, and you're bothering a very sick man! I'm going to have to ask you to leave…"

_Goliath's jalapeños! _the Puck inside him wanted to cry out, _Who is this moron!?_

Then Oberon let go of Owen's shirt and turned to the guy, taking a few menacing steps towards him. "Oh…" he said, his tone like a rabid dog ready to go in for the kill, "…Really…?"

Still, the evil in his tone flew right by the stupid man. "Yeah, really!" the man insisted.

And Owen Burnett decided to intervene, lest the poor sap's head become the latest adornment in Lord Oberon's throne room.

"Milord, please, this isn't necessary!" he said, placing himself between Oberon and the poor mortal, "I will fulfill my task, my lord. And I will report to you as soon as I have news."

Oberon changed the focus of his anger from the mortal to Owen and snorted. "Pray that you find her, trickster, or else you will be of no use to me anymore. Worthless servants have no place in Oberon's court."

Like so, he pushed both men aside and headed to the elevators, vanishing once and for all.

" 'My lord'?" the stupid fella wondered out loud, once Oberon was gone. He stared at Owen, "He's British?"

The pressure relieved, and tiredness wearing him out, Owen broke out of character, rolled his eyes and moaned loudly. He clutched his breast and took several deep breaths. That was close. Too close.

            He stared bewildered at the new guy, just as bewildered as the new guy was with him, "Who _are_ you?"

            "Dennis Anderson?" the man replied, apologetically this time, his bravado gone with Oberon. "Uh, are you ok? Do you need to sit down or something?"

            Owen honestly didn't know what to say. His mind went blank for a second. "Uh, no," he replied, knowing he sounded unsure even though he didn't mean to be. "I'm fine. Let's just… go to my room, all right?"

This guy, this Anderson, quietly followed him to his room. Owen, his mind working overtime trying to figure out who this man was and how he fit in all this, said nothing for a few minutes until he could make up the right questions.

            But the stranger spoke up before he could ask anything, "Mr. Burnett, who was that guy, if you don't mind me asking?"

            "Lord Oberon?" Owen repeated, then he cursed himself. He shouldn't have said he was a lord. He shouldn't have.

            "British, huh? I heard the British were stuck-up, but I never knew…what did he want with you? I mean, shouldn't we call security on him? He looked dangerous…"

            Owen smiled meekly, not quite knowing what to say, "That's… not necessary…"

            "Really? How did he get in here? Crazy people don't pass the lobby unless…" Anderson suddenly stopped speaking, as if something nasty just popped in his mind. He turned to Owen and exclaimed, "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Mr. Burnett! …He's your father, isn't he?" Owen's heart skipped a beat, but before he could say anything, Anderson added, "I didn't know, honestly! I mean, I noticed the eyes, sure, but nobody told me you were British! Does that make you royalty or something?"

It took an extraordinary mental effort for Owen to get with the program. He tried to think how a complete stranger would perceive the matter in the hallway and the 'lord' thing. Then he understood that this Dennis didn't know anything, he couldn't possibly unless Xanatos told him, something the millionaire would never do.

Still, this guy had an awful lot of personal information on him and had some grasp of things. Or at least a general idea to make such close guesses. He had jumped to the wrong conclusions, but they weren't too far off to begin with.

            First, he decided to determine how much the man knew. "Mister…Anderson, is it?"

            "Well, it's doctor, but it's a long story. Just call me Dennis."

            "Oh, all right…uh…Dennis…" Owen replied, shifting uncomfortably. "Do you know who I am?"

            Anderson shot him a wary look. "Sure I do. Owen Burnett, right? Is there anything wrong? Oh!" He slapped himself in the forehead, "How stupid of me… you don't remember a damn thing about last night, correct?" He looked doubtful for a minute, as if debating something in his mind. Then he sighed and stretched out his hand for a handshake, "Dennis Anderson, at your service… I'm Mr. Xanatos …I don't know how to say this… new assistant?"

Owen indeed shook his hand, but he didn't know how to handle the last bit of information. _But I'm_ Xanatos' assistant…_ a little voice whined, but he smothered it. He sighed softly. __One week in Avalon is…what? Three, maybe four months, in the real world?_

            He made another mental leap to land in the current conversation. "Of course," he said, more restrained now, "Nice to meet you, Dr. Anderson. Were you my doctor?"

            "Oh, no, I haven't been in an ER for years. I just pulled rank to scare him out. We sort of met already yesterday. I was the one that found you in the courtyard and heard most of your mutterings last night. So I know more about you that you would've wanted."

            Owen got a little nervous again. "Really…?"

            "Don't worry!" Anderson replied, looking a little smug, "Your secret's safe with me."

            Owen's eyes widened, silently dreading what sort of things he said last night and dying to ask.

            "Anyway," Anderson continued, switching subjects, "I brought you some clothes Xanatos picked out for you…unless you don't feel well enough to leave…?"

            "No. No, I am anxious to leave," Owen replied. "I must talk to Xanatos as soon as possible."

            "Great!" the other replied, "He's waiting for you right now."

*                       *                          *

After the slightly twisted first meeting, Owen calmed down enough to worry about the details. Never mind how this must look to a complete stranger, why did Xanatos let Mr. Anderson run loose around the castle?

He wondered what Xanatos told him, what story he had failed to fill Owen into. So for the moment, he let slide Anderson's conclusions that Oberon was British and related to him —which in a sick sort of way were correct— to avoid giving more complicated explanations. Mr. Anderson was also kind enough to avoid asking about where he'd been for the last three months —Owen already checked the calendar and made the calculations— even though it would've been a damned good question.

It also allowed Owen to jump to his own conclusions; that Anderson didn't have enough authority to ask. That, for the moment, was a good thing.

Because from there on in, everything would be bad.

He met Xanatos in the office. The long walk around the castle cheered him up a bit, but he refused to feel anything else. Now wasn't the time for homecomings and he got the feeling Xanatos also knew it.

Finally, he entered the office. Both Xanatos and Alex were there. Alex he could deal with easily, being just a baby. It was Xanatos he didn't know how to talk to.

"Mr. Anderson, will you please take Alex to the nursery?" Xanatos said as he handled the child to the latter one, "Daddy and Uncle need to have a little talk." He said to Alex, cuddling him a little bit more.

Owen just wished he didn't call him Uncle to an outsider like Anderson. Like the mortal didn't have enough questions by now. The child and Anderson gone at once and they were finally left alone.

For a moment, neither spoke. Owen tried to pick a question and a tone that avoided any unnecessary sentimentalisms or even an 'I'm happy to see you'. He wasn't good at hellos anymore than he was with goodbyes. Besides, now wasn't the time to pretend to play catch up. He sure as hell wasn't interested.

And they spoke at once. Both tried to ask something but the questions got garbled.

            Xanatos sighed. "You first."

            Owen cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "Who is Mr. Anderson?"

            Xanatos shifted, uncomfortable, even though to another eye he might've looked completely normal. Alas, Owen knew him too well. "Assistant." He sighed a bit frustrated. "The board insisted. They kept bugging me to get some help, but I never—"

            The blond quickly cut him off, uninterested, or merely unwilling, to learn what Xanatos wanted to say. "What does he know?"

            "That Mr. Burnett had a little family problem back at the farm and vanished from the face of Earth for three months. And that suddenly shows up again without explanations. With _my_ son." Xanatos said dryly, "No more than I do, really."

            Glad to cut to the point, Owen said, "Mr. Xanatos… we have a problem."

            "So I figured. Oberon surely didn't let you go out of the goodness of his heart, did he? What's the catch?"

            "Titania is missing."

            For a moment, Xanatos stared blankly at him. Then he stared away and, trying not to clench his teeth too hard, replied, "Doesn't sound like much of a problem to me."

            "Yes it is. Because if we don't find Titania, he will take both Alex and myself back to Avalon. Whether we want to or not." He paused for a second. "We have one week."

Owen went out of his way to deliver the news coldly and efficiently without an iota of feeling or theatrics. Only the truth, plain and simple, without unnecessary prologues. Xanatos' expression hardened and he mumbled, "How could you do this to me, Owen?"

            "How could _I_ do this to you?" Owen replied, this time outraged, but trying hard not to sound so completely offended. Again, he was trying to smother his feelings on the matter, but he wasn't being effective. He took a few steps forward and said, coolly, "It was the best I could do. And he only took the deal because he's desperate. And don't snub Titania just yet, she was my ticket —_Alex's ticket— out of the island."_

            "Dammit, Owen, that's a pretty shitty deal!" Xanatos snapped, "How the hell are we going to find her in _just one week_?!"

            "How did you expect for Oberon to let us go otherwise?" Owen said coldly, "You have _no idea_ how hard it was. Truth to tell, if I hadn't done something, it's very likely Alex wouldn't be alive at all." At that, Xanatos perked up interested, "That's right," Owen continued, confirming his fears. "In the end, she couldn't even be in the same room with him. She couldn't bear it, David. She started taking off to Earth constantly and then… she stopped coming back. He lost all communication with her…and guess on whom did he take it out."

            Xanatos was very, very quiet. Whispering, he said, "What did he—?"

            "She left me a letter." Owen said, cutting him off. He dug into his jacket and took out an envelope. It had been sealed with hot wax, but it was clear Owen had already opened it. "She left it to me specifically."

Warily, Xanatos stared at Owen then at the envelope, to then almost tear it open in nervousness. He sat down and began reading it, and all the while, Owen grabbed a seat for himself and sighed, staring idly at the floor.

For he knew very well what that letter said. Because it was a very personal letter and if he gave it to Xanatos, it was because he trusted him and he had no one else to turn to. Otherwise, he wished no one else to read that thing; because it mentioned things he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, having experienced it in his own flesh.

When he finished, Xanatos gazed at him, appalled, though Owen didn't have to look up to know the expression in his face. He closed his eyes and waited for it.

            "Owen, did he…?"

            "I do not wish to talk about it." Owen replied, and not wanting to let any of it sink in yet, he quickly said, "Besides, it's the last paragraph what's really important."

            "But the rest of it—"

            "Is unimportant. Please, Mr. Xanatos, read."

            He looked at him, but not wanting to cross Owen any further, he turned his attention to the last paragraph and read out loud. _"…after all the wrongs that have been done to you, my Puck, let me breathe into you hope: for I have gone to the limits of knowledge and brought back something no mortal or immortal had dared trifle with before. Lesser beings know not about it but wiser beings know best to leave alone. Call me foolish, my dearest Puck, because I know that the price for meddling with such things is death, but if I'm right, this death shall be undone. The price for entering the gods' playground is high but I have a feeling they are on my side and if there's any justice in this world, any justice at all, they will let go my way and all wrongs shall be rendered null and void, as if they never were to begin with."_

            "There's nothing else. That's where it ends." Xanatos finalized.

            "She was up to something big, Mr. Xanatos. I do not know what, but I can feel it in my blood she was up to something foolish and dangerous. I have no idea what it may be, but the last few days I saw her she was insisting that all this was… wrong. She did not elaborate and I was… unable to ask… but I fear the worst."

            "Owen…" Xanatos said, looking at the letter then at him with a shy compassion creeping into his eyes, "There's not a lot to go on in this letter. You know that, right?"

            "But there's more." Owen said quietly, "She has planned this mission well. Apparently, an emissary will come to us."

            "Emissary?"

            "I don't know what it means. Someone or something leaving instructions to us, I think."

            "How do we look for this 'emissary'?"

            "We don't. It'll come to us."

            "But what does it have to do with anything? What were her exact words? There's got to be something more we can do."

            "She didn't explain and I couldn't ask. I was too dazed to question her when she told me." He replied, "I remember her whispering something about an emissary, or messenger, I'm not too sure anymore, leaving instructions. At least this proves that Titania has planned whatever it is that she's up to with great care. That is my greatest worry. That it'll be something great and foolish and we won't have a clue until it's all over."

            "But what happened?"

            "With Titania?"

            "With _you_." He corrected, "In the letter, she said—"

            "I already told you I don't want to talk about it." Owen interrupted, this time saying it with a great air of finality.

Xanatos fixed his eyes on him for a second, trying to determine how much further prodding Owen could take before he got truly annoyed. Hopefully, Xanatos would think Owen callous enough for him to let it go. But the things in the letter…

Temporarily assuming it wasn't as big a deal as Titania made it sound, Xanatos decided to focus on the bigger problem, like Owen expected him to.

For a moment, they both sat in silence, each of them thinking of what could be done and what could _realistically be done. And it was Owen who said, "What are we going to do?"_

            "I don't know. You've just dropped the bomb on me five minutes ago. Let me process the information and I'll get back at you on that." He handled the latter back to Owen, "If instructions are to come to us, maybe we'll be forced to wait. Didn't she say anything else?"

            "No, sir. That is all I know."

            "What does she hope to accomplish? Revenge against Oberon, maybe?"

            Owen shook his head, "No…" he explained, "She blamed herself, mostly. She was incredibly sorry for what happened. If anything, she's out to make amends, and at a very personal price."

Xanatos' eyes darkened for a moment, but Owen didn't have to employ any sorcery or mind-reading to know what he wanted to mumble under his breath. Indeed, he cut him off before he said anything.

            "I know you're still upset, but this time you have to put it aside if you want to save your son." Owen hurried up to say.

            Xanatos blinked, but he wasn't too surprised at his deduction. But he still didn't like having to save Titania's ass. Apparently, she would only do something stupider and really screw them up for good. "So that's it? You sure you don't remember anything else?"

            "_Yes, I'm sure." Owen said, getting annoyed. Like he didn't have enough of this back in Avalon. And to avoid getting more impertinent questions, he asked, "What are you going to do with Mr. Anderson? How much access have you given him? I would appreciate it if we kept as much people out of these matters as possible."_

            "Don't mind him. He's harmless. Curious, but mostly harmless. Besides, I don't think you'll have free time to help me with the company's affairs." Xanatos considered it for a moment. "And if things go to the dogs again…" he added in a whisper, "…I don't want to be left alone."

Sensing that if he stayed more time, more undesired matters would certainly come to light, Owen stood up and got ready to leave.

"Owen…"

Owen froze for a moment. _Please, please, please don't let him say anything, he pleaded to any gods out there._

            "I'm glad you're back."

            "All right." Owen shrugged, unable to come up with anything else, and continued his way out the door.

            "Yeah, but…" Again, Owen froze. He looked at Xanatos, who wanted to say something but ultimately changed his mind when he saw the look on his face. Once more, he swallowed his words. "…Never mind."

With that, Owen got the hell out of there.

*                              *                                 *

Their little conference done, Owen took a break to wander around the castle. But the second he stepped into his old office, he realized he really didn't want to see anything. He didn't want to be acquainted with anything of the castle. For a moment, he even considered spending the week in a hotel room and get the hell away from this place once and for all.

He'd just end up leaving again at the next week, wouldn't he? His quest reeked of failure. And he would return to Avalon and its lord…

And all of the sudden, Mr. Anderson showed up and poked his head into the office, "Mr. Burnett, I've been looking all over for you." He said as he handled him a strange set of security passes. "Mr. Xanatos reinstated most of your passwords and cards, particularly your room. Nothing's been touched as far as I can tell, so it's a bit dusty."

Just when he was plotting to leave, this Mr. Anderson _had_ to appear. Honestly. This man had the ability to throw him off balance all the time. Got on his nerves somehow.

            "Thank you," was the only thing Owen could say.

            "Right." Anderson replied. Before he turned away, he asked, a bit unsure. "With your return and all… what exactly am I supposed to do now?"

            "Excuse me?"

            Anderson blinked. "Well… you _are_ still his assistant, correct? What is my position now?" He chuckled softly and muttered, "I don't think there are a lot of places to go. To quote Dr McCoy, I'm a doctor, not a secretary. I think I'm off best studying gargoyle biology that actually dealing with them…"

            Owen looked at him surprised. "You know about them?"

            "Yeah. Mr. Xanatos gave me the whole slideshow. Honestly… I still don't know what to think of them. I'd love to study them, but they have a feud with Mr. Xanatos. I don't think they'll appreciate me poking around."

Yep, Xanatos told him. Chances were he couldn't resist the temptation. He even told the judge who married him. Xanatos wasn't that keen on keeping the secret for long.

He might as well. He was going to need help with the clan if everything really 'went to the dogs'.

"Right now, Mr. Anderson, I think it's safe to say your place is in the castle for awhile. Two people are better than one. Plus, I'll be greatly indisposed most of the time. So Mr. Xanatos still needs all the help he can get. Don't worry, everything is going to be fine."

Satisfied, Anderson nodded and left him alone in the office. And before he knew it, that familiar, horrible ache was back, even though he tried, he really tried to bottle it up and shelf it in the depths of his mind. Unexpected and unwanted, like it had a life on its own, it strolled around his mind as if it owned him.

Anderson had been the cataclysm for some reason. Everything Owen had struggled to bottle up exploded.

_No. Nonono. You've kept your head up high for only a day and the week is seven days long. For the love of heaven, don't fall apart on me, Mr. Burnett! Don't! _

But no matter how much he tried, the dam eventually broke. He tried. He really tried. But ultimately, it was too much for him to hold on. Everything that happened since that night rushed past by him and he couldn't take it anymore.

_It's not fair!_ The voice in his mind kept complaining. _It's not fair at all!_

PART TWO

Elisa Maza was ashamed of herself.

She didn't mean to, but it just happened. In her mind, two little Elisas were waging battle. Devil Elisa, wearing a red jumpsuit with a pair of horns, a tail and a staff in the shape of a fork was arguing that she didn't need to feel ashamed. David Xanatos had it coming and just because he lost his whole family doesn't mean she had to be nice to him.

Angel Elisa, wearing a white robe and a shining silver halo, shook her head and mumbled, 'You insensible woman. Never have I felt so ashamed of being your conscience.' Then the little specter turned her back on her and refused to talk for the rest of the day.

Eventually, Angel Elisa won out, which was too bad, because she was rooting for the devil.

The battle decided, she took a deep breath and went off in search of her partner. She found him in the police lounge, where the staff took a break to pour themselves some bad coffee and take naps in the worn-out sofa.

As for Matt, he was reading the paper by the small table. He didn't notice her until she pulled up a chair and sat next to him. Not knowing how to begin, she just blurted it out. "Matt, I'm sorry. My actions yesterday were appalling and my treatment of Xanatos was unjustified. I made a complete fool of myself and needlessly endangered our investigation. And I embarrassed you… And I'm sorry."

Matt hadn't given a hint he paid attention. After some time, he slowly lowered his paper, folded it neatly and placed his hands on it. Then he stared at Elisa for an awkward number of seconds.

Then he began: "As much as I'd love to say all your apologies are accepted, I can only accept one, the one about how much you humiliated me the other day. As for the other two, I don't think they're meant for me. So if I were you, I'd swallow my pride, get to the phone, call you-know-who and apologize properly."

            Elisa sighed exasperated, "But Matt—"

            Matt quickly raised a hand. "The next thing I want to hear from you is 'yes, Matt, I'll get to it right away'." But seeing how Elisa wasn't getting up, he sighed and added, "We've been down this road before, Elisa. Everybody's been telling you it wasn't his fault. If you want to blame someone, blame Goliath himself."

            "How's this Goliath's fault!?"

            Matt looked at her coolly. "Yes, it is. Damn that gargoyle for being so optimistic with human beings. How dare he be so noble and true that he'd be willing to risk his neck for such a bastard. How could he even give a second chance to those that don't deserve it and think the best of everybody. How dare he be so decent, so self-sacrificing, such a paragon of good behavior. How dare he make you fall in love with him using all those qualities. That rogue. That fiend. That villain."

            "What's your point…?" Elisa muttered under her breath.

            "It means that Goliath did what he did because of his pure heart and you're making his sacrifice a joke by insulting everything he believed in."

            Elisa stared at him stunned, and stuttered her response. "I—you— Xanatos' the one wasting his life! He's the one with utter contempt with life! Goliath risks his life and limb for him and we didn't even get a thank you, Matt. He didn't appreciate this at all!"

            "Elisa, how do you _know_?" Matt replied, "You're no psychic and it's safe to say that considering your past history with the man, you're a little _biased_ on the judgment. God knows he's not a saint, but that isn't even the point here. You're paying evil with evil and that will get you nowhere."

            "Well, who am I supposed to blame!?"

            "Simple. Blame no one. Because there's no one to blame."

Oh, dammit, he didn't understand at all. Truth to tell, she didn't understand either. Maybe she needed to blow some steam and telling him off was one way to release stress, but now she wasn't as determined as yesterday to purposely hurt him.

_Damn!_ She told herself, _If__ you're going to pick a vendetta, stick to it!_

Maybe the problem was that she perceived him to be too damn cocky. She had bawled her eyes out for days when she heard the news —as if to add insult to injury, she'd slept through the damn thing because of that petulant god— and Xanatos? She hadn't even heard news he reacted at all.

That, for some reason, really pissed her off.

For the moment, she admitted she was mistaken in attacking him. If anything, it made her seem immature and stupid. But it was a long way off before she swallowed her pride and admitted it to his face. So she settled with a one-sided truce and promised herself not to say anything stupid the next time she saw him. After all, it wasn't his fault. Nobody told Goliath to help him. Xanatos certainly didn't ask for help.

_But dammit…_she thought, _the least Xanatos could do was show some gratitude. Show me that it was worth it. The clan tried to save his family, and that means something!_

She remembered Goliath's remembrance ceremony. Xanatos hadn't even attended. It wasn't fair, because she attended his wife's, and he should've attended her Goliath's.

_I remember you at Fox's. You just stood there, with those big shades covering half your face. Worse, you were being an asshole to everybody that dared to come close to you. Even your father had to back off._

_I tried to be nice to you then. I tried. I tried to let you know I understood, but you were crass, even to me. "Spare me your hypocrisies, detective," you said. "You know you're glad she'd dead."_

_ So I figured, why bother? _

Then a particularly important piece of news reached her ears, something that would bump those inner thoughts to second place.

"Found him? What'd you mean we found him?"

*                           *                                *

" 'What took you so long?' The police storm into your hotel room and the first thing you say is 'what took you so long?' Were you expecting us, maybe?"

Lester Kramer was in no hurry to answer the question. The redhead guy sighed exasperated and said some pseudo-witty muttering he didn't bother to record for posterity.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair and stared intently at the redhead detective. The chair was fairly uncomfortable, for this was a questioning room in a police station in the heart of New York and, well, you couldn't expect much.

"Hey, answer the question," the other detective, a woman, said. The guy's partner. She regarded him as a friend but he knew the man had romantic inclinations that would no doubt float to the surface if the river ran its course. No need to tell them that yet, of course. "What?" the woman continued, "You're just going to sit there for the next three hours?"

Still he said nothing.

That seemed to annoy the detectives even further. Finally, the redhead guy snapped, "Hey, you either say something or I'll have you thrown in a cell! See if that encourages a little chat!"

Lester looked at the detective and decided to speak. Yes, the mighty Lester was about to speak. All fell quiet before him, because the words of the wise were not to be ignored. Alas, a god speaks! And he had so many things to say, so many secrets to reveal to these stupid little mortals.

All in good time, however. Let's start with the mundane details first. Crawling before walking, of course.

            Lester cleared his throat and said, "Your fly is open."

            The redhead detective blinked. "_Excuse me_?"

            "Your fly is open," Lester repeated. "Captain Winky is poking out of his cabin. Surely, you don't expect me to spend the whole interview wondering when you're going to zipper up. Good gracious, man, don't you look yourself in the mirror? Next thing you know, toilet paper is poking out of your ass."

            The man looked at him startled and, slightly flustered, hurried up to zipper his pants. "Smart ass…" he muttered.

            The woman decided to ignore her partner and gave Lester a deadly look. "Glad you finally decided to open your trap. I'm Detective Elisa Maza and this is my partner, Matt Bluestone. You're under arrest for credit card fraud, using the credit card of Celine Brault, a woman murdered a couple of days ago. And imagine our surprise when your face also showed up in the cameras documenting her murder. What have you got to say for yourself?"

            Lester couldn't help himself. "It wasn't me! It was the one armed man!"

            "Great. A joker." Bluestone snorted, "You know what judges do to jokers in the court?"

            "Something very frightening and intimidating, no doubt." Lester replied. "But not half as scary as those dirty boxers. When was the last time you changed them, anyway?"

            "_Why, you—!"_

            "Matt!" Maza snapped and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back. "_Anyway, would you please state your name for the record?"_

            "Hmm, no, I don't think I want to."

            "Sir, you _must_." Maza insisted, this time annoyed, "Or else you'll get yourself into more trouble. Frankly, mister, you don't want to do that. You haven't said your name to anyone. You have no driver license, no social security number…just tell us your name."

            "Well, if I do tell you _a_ name, how can you be sure that's the real one?"

            Maza sighed gravely. Touché. "I guess we don't…"

            "Good. So don't bother asking. Just call me… Aldorso. Yes! Lovely name. If I ever have a son, I'm going to call him Aldorso!"

            "Better bring a psychiatrist in, Elisa, I think this guy has cracked…" Bluestone sneered with contempt.

            "Oh, you'll do no such thing, Matt. Can I call you Matt? …For visionaries have often been called madmen. And it just happens I'm the greatest visionary of all."

            "Oh, you don't say." Bluestone said as he crossed his arms.

            "Yes, I do say. How else would I know six gargoyles live above this very police station?"

Maza ran out of breath and Bluestone gave a little startled jump. Well, that certainly caught their attention. And he had just blurted it out for effect. At least now he knew they paying attention.

            "That's… ridiculous." Maza replied, trying to get a grip on herself and deny it. She laughed falsely and stared away just like when she lied. She tried to chuckle it off. "Gargoyles in the police station…"

            "Oh, _please_!" Lester said, completely disgusted, "You're worse than all those so-called actresses trying to pretend a Southern accent in High School plays all across America. When they put Peter Pan on stage in sixth grade, you were probably stuck as a tree, weren't you?"

            Maza turned as red as her worn-out jacket, "Have you been spying on us!?"

            "What? You think I'm going to waste my time stalking you when I have the power to see reality at my disposal? I just told you I'm a visionary. That means I see shit. Lots of interesting shit. And yours is the most fascinating load of bull I've seen in awhile."

            "Who are you!?" Maza snapped.

            "I jut told you. I'm a visionary."

            "I don't mean that!" she continued, "I mean, what you want with us? How come you know about the gargoyles?"

            "Because I saw it in a vision, _duh."_

            Sensing that this wasn't leading them anywhere, Maza flopped on the chair and plotted her next move. "All right," she said, ready to put up a good argument against him, "If you can see the future—"

            "_Correction_." Lester interrupted. "I can't see the future."

            "What sort of visionary _are_ you, then?" Bluestone snorted, his face turning into an ugly scowl.

            "I see the past and everything that happens around me, _Matthew." He told him, rolling his name around his mouth._

            "Everything as in…?" Maza began.

            "Everything as in… everything. No other way to put it." Lester replied.

            Bluestone shook his head idiotically, "I don't understand."

            "Figures you wouldn't. There's really not a lot to it. I see the past and I see that which happens around me. You won't get a more detail explanation out of me." He continued, a bit annoyed. It was the equivalent of saying 'this is a shoe' to a three year old child that didn't get it and kept calling it 'sock'.

            "So…" Maza continued, "You're… omniscient? God?" She couldn't tell whether he was crazy or a psychic or both.

            Lester didn't respond right away. He loathed admitting he was something less than holy, but he felt some explanations were needed after all. "I'm not God. And, no, I'm not even _a_ god either. I told you twice. I see past and present but not future. I'm two thirds omniscient. But I can make educated guesses about the future."

He was rewarded with blank stares from the detectives. Sensing he was about to struck with a barrage of questions that would do nothing to advance the plot and serve only to satiate their morbid curiosity, he hurried up to say, "I don't expect you to wrap your mind around the concept, but I'm more than willing to make a demonstration. For example, I could mention a particularly embarrassing incident involving Detective Bluestone, a can opener and a Playboy magazine."

            Maza stared at her partner, more out of curiosity's sake than anything, and saw him turn red around his ears. "It was an accident, Elisa! You know how college kids are—"

            "Spare us the pain, detective." Lester interrupted.

            "If you're so brilliant, then, why didn't you run out of the hotel before half the NYPD stormed in to arrest you?" Maza carried on, with some growing dislike of that man. "What _are_ you up to?"

"Oh, my dear stupid woman. Did you actually think _moi would be foolish enough to get caught? The fact is I waited for you to catch me. I spent two nights in that hotel, ordered everything in the room service menu, had a couple of beers and saw 'Lesbians from Planet Pluto Part Five' several times before you __fine police officers showed up. What took you so long, anyway? I was about to run naked into the restaurant to see if I finally got your attention. But no matter. Now I'm here and there's business at hand. I'd love to narrate to you how lesbians from Pluto punish their traitors, but you'll find what I've got to say much more interesting." _

Lester rubbed his hands together and smiled. Both detectives felt their skin crawl for some reason. He leaned forwards conspiratorially and said, "I want to meet you. The red one, the fat one, the one that looks like a gecko, the grandpa and the chick gargoyle. Not to mention the dog gone horribly wrong, the poor little rich boy and his pet elf."

            Maza caught her breath, startled out of breathing with his request. "You want to meet—"

            "Everybody. The whole happy family. You see, you people are in horrible, horrible danger and I'm the only one that can save you."

            The detectives exchanged dubious glances. "_Aaannd…" Bluestone said, "What sort of danger is that?"_

            "Do you want to know? Really want to know? Really, really, really want to know? Are you dying to learn what I have to say? Are you willing to grovel so you can drink from my fountain of knowledge?"

            Maza's expression hardened, "Now that you put it that way— no."

            Lester sneered. "Great! Then we can take a break and fetch me a pizza. Papa John's, not that Dominos crap. I want it big, I want it hot, I want with anchovies and I want it in less than fifteen minutes. And I want the breadsticks too. Those are yummy."

            Bluestone seemed the most outraged of the duo. "You know, I'm starting to think you're full of bullshit."

            "That I am, my friend. But aren't you a bit curious about me either way? I'll be glad to tell you. You, the clan, the billionaire and his pointy-eared boyfriend."

            Believing she had found a weakness in his argument, she quickly replied, "If you're so smart, you'd know that his 'pointy-earned boyfriend' is not with us anymore!"

            He simply shook his head and smiled like he would smile at a dim-witted child, "You're awfully slow for the daughter of a cop. Are you sure you weren't adopted? Now that you're taking a moment to order my pizza, take the opportunity to call your old friend and ask him about it." He went tsk-tsk on her, "Honestly! And you call yourself a detective!"

Maza chose to take that last insult into stride and pulled her partner outside for a little 'consultation'. Of course, Lester didn't have to listen in to know what they said and what decision they would reach. She hadn't known the bit with the elf and considering her current animosity against the rich guy, she wouldn't let it go until she knew for sure. Lester could also guess her partner's arguments, whom at one moment snapped, 'You're going to call him _right now!?' loud enough for Lester to hear him all the way inside._

Playing stupid to the detectives, Lester properly accommodated himself in the seat and put on his happy face. Maza walked in faced him with her arms crossed, "Alright, mister. I'm going to check in your information—"

            "And get me the pizza?" he interrupted.

            Maza restrained her anger. "_Yes,_ we'll get you the damn pizza. But afterwards, you're going to answer me some serious questions, got it?"

            Lester smiled toothily and said, "You got it, tree-girl." Maza gave him her trademarked death glare and turned away. But before she was out the door, he couldn't resist adding, "Oh, and Detective?" She grunted but turned to face him nonetheless. Lester smiled, "Do apologize to the poor man. After all… it wasn't _his_ fault."

Maza exited and slammed the door behind her.

*                              *                             *

_It wasn't _his_ fault?_ Cretin. That stranger couldn't possibly understand.

Elisa was once more taking on the existentialist questions that had plagued her this morning, and every morning, for the last three months. Should she call Xanatos, knowing very well they were only going to piss each other off?

Maza had a feeling that calling him so quickly was a bad idea. A little voice muttered that she'd use any excuse, no matter how feeble, to start bickering with him. She had only drilled the stranger for half-an-hour, and he hadn't said anything terribly important that really warranted calling Xanatos. There was nothing to report yet and she risked looking like an alarmist.

But she was going to call him anyway, not to check on the stranger's story, but just to…fight. It was that simple. She wanted to fight.

For a very brief moment, she considered letting go. But she rationalized her common sense. He did know about the clan. And anyone who knows about Avalon makes it worse. So, then, it was perfectly justified that she should call him to see what was going on. Because they were all connected, you see. He was a jerk, but he needed to know. If he became the weak link, he could drag them all down. So it was justified, you see. It was a common enemy and they needed cooperation. The city wasn't big enough for the three of them. They were all in it. So she really, really had to call.

She picked up the phone with a sort of fatality, as if she really had no choice, even though she was perfectly aware she could just quit. But she didn't.

_Whatever happened to the truce, Elisa?_ someone asked in her mind. But screw truces and agreements. She was going to call him.

Getting ready for another round of mental sparring, she clicked his phone number —long ago memorialized— and waited for that slick voice to say "_Xanatos_."

            "Alright, David Xanatos, I'm going make this short and sweet…" Elisa blurted out. "Owen Burnett is back with you, isn't he?"

            She could practically see him choking of his morning latte. He didn't answer immediately; first he tried to evade an answer. _"And who said that?"_

            "Does that mean its true?"

_            "I didn't say that. I'm only wondering who told you that misguided news."_

She heard right through him. She'd gotten to known him so well lately. It was so easy to sort through his half-truths this time around. So pathetically easy.

            "So it is true, isn't it? Gee, Xanatos, you must be losing your touch."

            He strove to suppress a growl. _"Even if it _is_ true, what's it to you?"_

            "Why, nothing other than an interesting piece of trivia," She sassed back. "But for the guy I arrested this morning, it seems to be old news."

_            "What's that again?"_

            "I got a guy here I've never seen before that not only knew that Owen was back in town, but that I know the gargoyles. Not only that, he's our prime suspect of the murder of Celine Brault, your security boss. Don't know his name, doesn't want to tell me. Xanatos…we have a problem."

Silence. Obviously, he was trying to figure out why she used 'we' in the sentence and what did it mean and what was she up to and how did that information affected him and what should he do now. He chose to be offhanded and blasé, pretend he wasn't _that_ interested in her information. He'd gotten so predictable. Plan A… Plan B… Plan C…

It had gotten like that a few months back. Sort of like a game, you see. And she had learned all his moves and all his arguments. It didn't take a burst of genius to guess his next words. "_Well, what do you want me to do about it?"_

She tried not to giggle. So predictable.

She got into the swing of it. The new game, which was trying to piss off each other. It was like chess and they both knew it. The trick was picking the tone, you see, and the right argument. Like debate class.

            She picked her arguments like she would pick her shoes. "Nothing yet. I just couldn't believe that he was right… that Owen was back." She licked her lips and got ready to ram it all in. "Naturally, the clan is the last to know— your psychotic in-laws show up in town and you neglect to mention it."

            _"And since when is my life any of your business?" Xanatos said acidly. _"Since when do I have to report to you? Do I have to call you every time I have to go to the bathroom? It's none of your business. We're not married, we're not divorced, we're not even related… and thank whatever gods you believe in for that…"__

Elisa gasped exasperated. Typical. Simply typical Xanatos. She didn't expect him to start senselessly attacking her so soon. Short fused megalomaniac egocentric asshole… and she said her piece, as if this was yesterday's continuation of the eternal debate.

"Where the hell is your gratitude? I've just informed you a complete stranger knows about your assistant's multiple personality disorder, that he knows about your relationship with the clan, and who's shown evil intentions about using that dangerous information, and what do you do? Bite my head off! I'm doing you a favor, Xanatos. At least I'm decent enough to warn you that you're going to get screwed soon. The _least_ you could do is appreciate my good intentions. What the hell was I even thinking, anyway, you've never appreciated us, not even Goliath, who pulled your ass out of the frying pan more times that I could count!"

_"Detective Maza, I really hate pulling box scores on who-owes-who more favors, but I _do_ seem to recall buying a certain castle and breaking a certain spell… so, in the end, you__ should be kissing my_ ass and _you_ should be appreciating _my__ help. Face it, you may hate my guts, but you invariably come to me for favors. Sure, you may talk__ big, but when the shit hits the fan, you crawl back to the castle and beg me to save your precious clan. I'm a man of great resources, Detective Maza. I wouldn't piss me off if I were you."_

"This is what you think of us? You've revealed yourself to me, Xanatos. And in this case, it's all of us who may be in trouble; that includes you and your beloved assistant. Lord forbid something _happen_ to him. And since I'm sure it's in your best interest to save the only creature on Earth willing to put up with your insolence, make sure to show up to our meeting. Don't pin it on us if you lose your only ally… _again."_

Like that, she hanged up. 

Yes, another day in the office. Yes, another day in her life. She did feel a bit like… like she was cheating sometimes. She often picked up unnatural self-righteousness in her own voice… but in the end, she did not change. If anything, it confirmed her stance: that he had it coming.

PART THREE

Xanatos had stared at his cell phone's screen for a few seconds instead of immediately picking it up. The phone number he knew very well, but he hadn't seen it in a few weeks now. _Great.__ Now what does she want?_

He had sneaked out of the conference hall where he and forty more of the rich and powerful from New York gathered. It was a lunch and a seminary and everybody was quietly listening to the speaker talk about technology. Getting into a shouting match in the middle of the lesson would do nothing to his reputation.

The news on the other side made Xanatos almost crush the phone with his grip. Damn, how did the little monster get that information? After all he did to maintain Owen's sudden reappearance a secret, the one person he sought to hide it from was among the first ones to know.

Three minutes and several insults later, he closed his eyes and placed the phone back in his pocket. 

No matter how much he'd heard that rant, he could never quite get over it. Even though he told himself not to play the game, to not believe a word she said, a side of him thought that the law of karma was inflexible, that all his evil deeds had come to bite him in the ass and he was getting his proper punishment.

It was a game. It was patently obvious to everybody. Xanatos forgot when it started. Was it at Goliath's remembrance ceremony? Or Fox's funeral? Did it really matter? He couldn't stop playing now.

He knew he couldn't start thinking about that. Somehow, he was going to have to shake her off. The woman would literally make him go insane. He wasn't like her, he still had hope left. Because Owen and Alex were back, and he could deal with it if they are around.

He tried to cut through Elisa's angry words and hear the bottom line. If Maza was right, a new player entered the game he knew nothing about. And then there was the Titania mess to deal with.

_Stop playing the game,_ he told himself, _and get back to business…if not for your sake, then for your son…and your assistant._

The things in the letter still floated in his mind. Sometimes, you have to remember some people's problems were far worse than your own. But he still thought, in a sick sort of way, he was partially responsible.

_Owen shouldn't have interfered for my sake. I should've told him that it wasn't worth it, I should've listened more closely when he explained about the defenses… I don't know. I could've done…_something.

He shook his head and tried to make those thoughts go away. Since when did he start playing the game with himself? Since when?

*                            *                              *

Owen Burnett vanished from the face of the earth. Again.

Dennis actually panicked for a moment. It wouldn't be nice if someone misplaced Xanatos' assistant again. The last time he saw him, he said that he would be busy doing something —didn't mention what— in the castle, to go right ahead with his business and don't mind him.

That was just an elegant way of kicking him out the castle, of course. Mr. Burnett claimed to need some privacy and also said not bother him at all. The baby he kept around, understanding very well Dennis drew the line at babysitting.

Dennis had respected his wishes for most of the day, doing errands with Tiffany, until curiosity got the better of him and decided to go check on them. Even that idea wasn't altruistic at all— Xanatos subtly had told him to check on Burnett every once in a while. He hadn't _ordered_ him to, but he had _encouraged it. That was the way everybody talked around here, dancing around the issues all the time._

So when he heard baby Alex bawling —his cries were loud enough to reach him even by the elevators, which in turn were a long way from the nursery— his blood ran cold and immediately figured something was wrong.

He went to the nursery first, but the kid was all right. Crying, yes, but not dying or anything. He couldn't tell what was wrong though. Maybe it was defective or something. But for the sake of shutting him up, he attempted several things, from finger puppets to milk bottles but nothing worked. Then it occurred to him that babies weren't normally that stinky and finally hit the jackpot.

"I'm a doctor, not a babysitter. Where the hell is Mr. Burnett?"

He felt cheap for asking a one-handed man to change a diaper, but they didn't pay him enough to do it. Researchers weren't trained for this. Bad enough his talents were wasted playing secretary. He could put up with the grueling paperwork, the funny looks he received and the mythological monsters, but this is where he drew the line.

But he couldn't exactly leave the kid alone. And he didn't want to carry him all over the castle. So he decided to pull out the baby stroller —brand-new one that was still in the box— strap the kid with the seat belt and go on tour around the castle, looking for Mr. Burnett.

The kid was like a car alarm that didn't stop. He pushed him around in the stroller all around the castle. His cries bounced like echoes in the dark hallways. 

All that crying getting on his nerves, he moved as fast as he could to Burnett's office. Then he went to Xanatos' office. Not there either. Then he went to the main hall, the kitchen and the courtyard and he began panicking. _Ok,_ he reasoned, _It's__ a big castle and you don't know all the hiding places…_

But the time he found Mr. Burnett, the kid had worn himself out from all the crying and fallen asleep. 

Burnett turned out to be in the dining room, sitting in front of the lit fireplace. He sat on the floor with his arms around his legs, resting his chin against his knees. He stared unblinking at the fire, like he had stared at the white wall in the infirmary.

The man was completely out of it.

"Damn…" he muttered, cursing his luck. It seemed every time he saw Burnett, he was acting weird.

He parked Alex's stroller by the entrance. Slowly he approached the sitting figure, not quite sure of what to do with him. He kneeled next to him and whispered, "Mr. Burnett? Are you ok?"

Predictably, Mr. Burnett said nothing; he only continued to stare into the fire. Dennis passed a hand in front of his eyes but he still did nothing. He even stared at the fire for a couple of seconds, to see if he could see whatever it was that interested Burnett.

Maybe it was some type of somnambulism. Walking in his sleep. He probably fell asleep at some point in the morning and walked around in his sleep to the fireplace. But is a somnambulist capable of starting a fire? If they were, they ought to be restrained.

He read somewhere that they shouldn't be woken up, but Dennis felt he was out of options and shook him by the shoulder. "Mr. Burnett, it's time to wake up! Wake up… please? Say something!" No response. "Mr. Burnett, its Dennis. Do you remember me? Do you know where you are?"

And surprisingly, Burnett replied, "In a dungeon."

He hadn't said so with any hint of liveliness. He was still staring dumbly at the fire, but at least now Dennis knew he was listening to him… more or less.

But before he could point out that this was a dining room, not a dungeon, the dinner table behind them and the fireplace before them and everything that made a dining room a dining room was gone. 

And so was Mr. Burnett for that matter.

*                       *                          *

_Instead of looking at Mr. Burnett, he found himself staring at a wall, which had clearly not been there before. Panicked, he grappled the wall, feeling it out, expecting it to go away at any moment. Alas, it did not._

_He stood up and took a few steps away for it. Then he spun around and found that he was suddenly in a strange room that didn't even remotely resemble a dining room, not in size or shape or anything else for that matter._

_If anything, the room was considerably smaller that the one before it. And it was occupied._

_First, by someone lying unconscious on the dirty floor._ Second, by the green skinned lady with bright pink hair staring down at the person lying unconscious on the dirty floor.__

_He blinked several times. The green lady was staring at him now. She smiled._

_            "Hello." She said. "Can I help you?"_

_            "Uh, no. I'm ok." Dennis replied, not knowing what else to say._

_            "What brings you to this place?" asked the green lady._

_            "I was trying to wake up Mr. Burnett. But now he's gone and I don't see him anywhere."_

_            "Oh. Ok." She replied. "Don't worry too much about him, he'll wake up after awhile."_

_Dennis's eyes wandered to the person lying unconscious on the dirty floor. It was a guy. A guy with a mop of white hair that covered his face and pointy ears and mismatching clothes. For some reason, it didn't strike him as unusual, as if he encountered white-haired pointy-eared folks all the time. Or green ladies with pink hair for that matter._

_            "What's wrong with him?" Dennis asked. "Can I help him? I'm a doctor."_

_            "No, I'm afraid there's nothing you can do right now." The green lady replied melancholically as she looked down at the unconscious figure. She stooped down to the boy and stroked his hair. "My poor sweet Puck. His name is Puck, by the way. He's had it so hard lately. You can't do anything for him now…"_

_            "How come?"_

_            "He enraged a very powerful creature. I still don't understand why. Their love, if you can call it that. If you are to help, make sure that no shadows fall between them."_

_            "I don't understand."_

_            She shrugged, "Neither do I. But I'm sure they'll need help later. Are you willing to help them?"_

_            "Sure. Should I leave him my number?"_

_            The green lady laughed softly. "That's not necessary. I think you have to go now. They're waiting for you."_

_Just like that, a door he hadn't noticed opened behind him. Bright light flooded the cramped room. "Huh." He said, walking towards it. He turned back for a moment.  "Talk to you later, then?"_

_"Of course," the green lady said as she waved, "Goodbye!"_

*                        *                           *

He opened his eyes and found himself in a strange fluffy surface than he later recognized as a bed.

What was he doing in a bed?  
What was he doing sleeping in the first place?

He sprang up in shock and got out of bed. To suddenly wake up from a nap in the middle of work was more than disturbing for a habitual insomniac. He spun and inspected the bedroom; it was probably a guest's room in the castle. Somebody had taken the liberty of carrying him to bed, take off his shoes and tuck him in.

Carrying him from…where?

He remembered up to the baby, when he was driving him around the castle, but the rest was a blur.

He looked for his shoes but found an old pair of slippers instead. Annoyed, he was forced to put on the slippers. To make matters worse, they were pink and in the shape of bunnies.

            He didn't have to go ahead and walk outside where other people would see him. As if by magic, Xanatos popped his head in on cue and said, "Ah. I see that you're feeling better!"

            Dennis blinked. "Was I feeling ill to begin with…?"

            "Well, you slipped in the kitchen. Don't you remember? Quite a bump. We were about to call a doctor. Should we call one anyway?"

            The young man rubbed the back of his head. Funny. He hadn't remembered the fall until Xanatos mentioned it. There was a bump there that he could've sworn wasn't there before. He shook his head. "I think I'll live. _Where_ did I slip again?"

            "The kitchen."

            "Oh… the kitchen…" he mumbled. He honestly couldn't remember. Must've been the bump.

            "Find your shoes." Xanatos said with a grin when he noticed the bunny slippers. "Wouldn't be caught out of the castle wearing _those."_

            Dennis gave him an embarrassed little chuckle. "Right…"

Xanatos vanished from his life once more and Dennis flopped in the bed. Then he couldn't help chuckling to himself. The second dream he could remember! First one was about birds and this one was about green ladies. Wonder what a psychiatrist would say of that…

Surely, there had to be some sort of logical explanation for dreaming about white-haired boys and green ladies. Maybe it was some sort of communication from his subconscious. He tried to come up with elaborate explanations for the symbols he saw until he got serious. "Green ladies are the ego of my subconscious? I've been reading too much Freud lately…" 

Still, he couldn't help wondering why dreamt of them. Of all the bizarre things anyone could think of… green women? It reminded him of the green belly dancer from an old Star Trek episode. Maybe that was it. He unconsciously remembered that old episode. But the green lady in his dream didn't resemble a belly dancer…

He shook his head. He was thinking too hard today. Still wondering about his dream, he started looking for his proper shoes.

_What next?_ He thought. _Talking chipmunks? What the hell. We already got talking statues…_

*                          *                            *

That had been a close one.

            "So my spell worked." Owen said, "He doesn't remember seeing me in the dining room. I think you should limit Mr. Anderson's access to the castle to prevent another accident." 

            Xanatos leaned against his desk in the big black office and crossed his arms with a smile. "Why, Owen, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous." Xanatos could feel the laser beams from Owen's eyes pierce his forehead and melt his brain. He smiled ruefully, "Touchy. It may not look like it, but he's proved to be invaluable help in the mundane problems of the company. Still, I don't want to give him a crash-course on the history of the Third Race, so next time, pick a better place to do a… what?"

            "Submersion spell." Owen mumbled quietly. "To recover vague memories. He interrupted me in the worse moment. Titania was about to tell me about the emissary when he woke me up. Anderson fainted immediately. The backlash of the spell was too much for him."

            "Hmm. So do your memories have anything to do with the information Detective Maza graciously provided us?"

            "Knowing how well we fare in the realm of the supernatural, I expect the answer is yes." Owen replied, a little bitter, "Unfortunately for ourselves, we don't know how or why. The appearance of this gentleman confounds me. What makes it so disturbing is that the answer is probably so deviously simple its waving at us as we speak and we won't know what it is until it's too late."

            "So, you're saying there's a connection between the gentleman and our current plight? Guess there's no escaping the clan's mess. I just hate it when they get themselves into trouble and drag me into it."

            "If I have learned anything in my association with you and the gargoyles is that if anything unusual happens in New York, it can be traced back to us." Owen continued, with an air of resignation. "It's this castle. It's like we're all connected. For better or for worse."

            "You're awfully pessimistic today." Xanatos observed, trying to remain detached in that obnoxious way he had when he tried to study a person. "In fact, you've been down ever since you came back." Now that he was on the subject, Xanatos took the opportunity to question something that had been nagging him for awhile. "Owen… why are those memories so vague? Where were you when she told you?"

            "Sir, that's completely irrelevant information."

            "It's relevant to _me_." Xanatos replied, "You haven't told me a thing about your trip to Avalon."

            Owen looked at him offended. "I really don't see how it is any of your _business." he hissed, something that sounded particularly disturbing coming from Owen Burnett. Xanatos looked at him shocked, and he immediately detracted his statement. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm in a sour mood and I don't wish to answer any questions."_

            "You've been in a sour mood ever since you got here. I just want to know what happened."

Again, Owen gave him that look. But this time it was charged with anger. "It's always about _you, isn't it? Would you for once mind your own business and leave me in peace!?" he snapped, jumping from his seat and charging out the door._

Xanatos didn't know how to react. Apparently, Owen was suffering from an unannounced nervous breakdown that took Xanatos by complete surprise. "Owen, wait!" he called out and chased him down the hall.

He'd suspected something was wrong with him when he walked into the office that morning, but Titania's letter had partially confirmed his fears. For a moment, he'd kidded himself into thinking it wasn't as serious as she made it sound, but he was mistaken. This needed some dealing-with as soon as possible.

            He caught up with him and jerked him by the arm, "Owen, wait! I want to know exactly what happened!"

            "You read the stupid letter, what else do you want to _know!?" he shouted back. "And the first thing you say is 'how could I do this to you'?" he went on ranting, clearly furious at him, "How could you even _say_ that?! After all the trouble I went through!"_

Again, Xanatos wanted to say something, say anything, but he ran out of words. But there were so many things he wanted to say he couldn't even start.

"You might as well know…" Owen continued, "That Oberon will grant me my liberty if I do his bidding. And I tell you right now I won't be returning to you."

That was like a bucket of cold water over all of Xanatos' senses. He couldn't even think straight anymore. So he said the stupidest thing first: "But you just came back!" Owen didn't even bother to reply. He started to turn away. Xanatos hurried to pull him back again. "Owen, we're a team! You can't leave me _again!"_

The blond stared at him bewildered, like he doubted his resolution. His gaze wandered to the floor. "I'm just… tired, I guess. Our life as we know it is over and I don't want to cling to the last strands like a fool. I'm beginning to hate this place and hate this body. I just don't think its worth all the effort I've put into it. Besides, you've got new help, and I just thought…"

Xanatos' mind went absolutely blank. He wasn't sure what he was talking about, but quickly putting two and two together, he thought he understood what it meant to him. 

            "It's all my fault, isn't it?" the millionaire mumbled.

            Owen looked up surprised at him. "What do you mean?"

            "That everything is my fault…" Xanatos went on, "Everybody says so. Elisa, dad… everybody I love is screwed because of me. Everything I've done is back like a boomerang… all of the sudden…" he continued, believing every word of it, "…everything that ever really mattered to me is gone… and I thought my luck would change with you here, but if you're leaving again…" he laughed weakly, "You know what pop said?"

            "David, I…"

            "He said I had it coming. That if I only remained a poor fisherman's son, this wouldn't have happened. And I'm starting to think… that maybe he's right… I mean… sure, I would've been poor, but… but I could have the little things, the stuff that really matters…"

Owen stood there staring at him, not quite sure of what to say. Xanatos wasn't sure what he wanted to hear to begin with. But he saw Owen like he saw himself: trapped in nostalgia and with no one to comfort him.

"I'm… you really shouldn't think like that…" Owen said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I wasn't around to tell you it's… nobody's fault. Not really. And I…." he shook his head and said, "I don't know what I'm saying. I'm tired and I'm just thinking out loud. I really didn't mean a word of it."

Xanatos could only nod. He recognized how much effort Owen put into that sentence. It was the sort of strength needed to attend a friend's funeral when you just had your wife's a week before. His strength had failed him then. But Owen had somehow managed better than him. Owen could be so much stronger than him sometimes.

He wanted to say something. He really did. Owen didn't say anything else, only that he'd be in his office. But Xanatos really, really wanted to talk. Run up to him, jerk him around and say— 

_"You idiot!__ You moron! How on Earth can you be so dense!? How can you do this to me, now, right after you've come back? How DARE you!?"_

What Owen said wasn't what he needed to hear. Or maybe it was precisely what he needed to hear, he wasn't too sure.

_I don't want you to die to me, Owen Burnett. All this time, I told myself that karma doesn't exist and that I didn't bring upon myself. I just wish somebody would tell me for sure. That somebody told me whether I was deluding myself or not._

_Is it unfair to ask that much from you, Owen?_

Too late. Owen was already gone. The opportunity to ask him was over.

*                          *                               *

Now more than ever Owen regretted even coming to the castle. He could've spared Xanatos the pain. What was the point, really, of coming if he was simply going to go away? Maybe he could've spared himself his own pain.

Six days from now, if he didn't find Titania, everything would be over. Maybe it was for the best… really…because…

_Because I don't want to get hurt.__ Go on, admit it. I don't want to reacquaint myself with the castle. I don't want to know how Xanatos has been doing, I don't want to know whom he ripped off last week, I don't want to know how the stocks are doing. I don't even want to pick up a newspaper and learn what happened in the world these last few months. What's the point if I'm going to go away? Losing it all again is more than I can bear. More than Xanatos can bear too._

He was so sorry he came back. The worse part was that it only gave Xanatos a false hope. If he left —if he was dragged back— the millionaire would just beat himself up over it. He didn't mean to get Xanatos upset. If he had known… he would've never accepted Oberon's offer.

They could've spared themselves a whole lot of needless worry.

"Why do I do these things to myself…?"

It would've been so simple if they hadn't met again, so simple, so easy, so effortless… But no. He had to pick the hard way. That's what he got for indulging in his fantasies.

_There's a reason why I don't remember what Titania told me. I was busy, my mind working overtime, trying to pretend that none of this was happening, busy watching the pretty memories of my mind, to the point I even ignored her, who was saying how much she truly…_

He mulled over those thoughts as he made his way to his old bedroom, another place he didn't want to be, but didn't have a choice. He stumbled upon Anderson by chance. Another person he didn't want to deal with. He couldn't help but stare at him anyway. Those pink bunny slippers were certainly eye-catching.

Anderson noticed he was staring at his feet and mumbled, "I can't find my shoes. You hid them, didn't you? Ha-ha, funny. Can I have them back, please?"

All right, that had been Puck's fault actually. He had transformed into the fey to do the clean-up job in Anderson's memories. It was Puck who decided to hide the shoes. Xanatos was the one to come up with the bunny slippers. They had been very bored that day. A little laugh for two dead men.

            "Of course," Owen replied, feeling this was a perfect excuse to stop thinking about what was nagging him. That's what he needed. To stop thinking about it. So he led Anderson back to the bedroom and pointed to the closet. Actually, the box inside the closet.

            "You put them where I couldn't find them…" Anderson said with a little smile, "And I thought you didn't have a sense of humor…"

Owen shrugged. He stared out the window and noticed the sun was falling. Was the day over so quickly? Another day he wasted. Five days left to find Titania and he didn't have a clue where to start.

            "What are you _doing_ here, Anderson?" Owen said. He hadn't planned on asking that. It just slipped out. The unconscious got the better of him. But he didn't retract the question.

            "Uh, because I woke up here?" he replied.

            "I don't mean it like that. I mean the corporation. How did you end up working for Mr. Xanatos?"

            Anderson let out a self-mocking chuckle. "I really have no idea. The last few months have been truly bewildering for me. I'm supposed to be a scientist, not an executive assistant."

Owen hadn't known about that. He prodded Anderson into giving him the whole story, and it was full of irregularities like forewarned. How the hell did a researcher end up with this job? No wonder he seemed so absolutely clueless sometimes. The boy had no idea what he had gotten himself into. It was only going to get more complicated from that point onward.

            "Has Mr. Xanatos talked to you about another position?"

            "No," Anderson replied, starting to get worried, "Why?"

            "I'm sure you're aware you're not the ideal person for this position, correct?"

            "_Yes…" he said awkwardly, "But I'm here. Might as well make the best of it."_

Owen stared at him and suddenly understood why he wasn't particularly fond of that guy and one of the reasons —not the only one, since it was a combination of factors— why he was so adamant of catching up with life. 

And judging from the way Anderson shifted and moved; he had known it for some time before Owen himself knew. Green eyed monsters showed up at the worst times.

PART FOUR

Detective Maza was at her wit's end. They had arrested the bastard early in the morning and now it was five in the afternoon and they hadn't even begun to get a statement out of him.

The little hissy-fit with Xanatos only soured her mood even further. The cocky bastard had another talking-down coming, even though she knew it resolved nothing and that it wasn't true, it felt good to give it to him. It felt good.

After they had gotten him the pizza, a process that took almost an hour because the delivery boy got lost or something, they spent the next couple of hours trying to pump information out of him, wasting an half an hour alone on hearing him talk about the pizza and subtle differences between Pepsi and Coca-Cola.

            "But personally," he said after the inane monologue, "I prefer Dr Pepper. Call me crazy."

            "Tummy filled up yet?" Elisa grunted. "We **_do_ have some things to ask you."**

            The man tossed his empty drink in the wastebasket near him. He put up his legs on the table and crossed his arms. "Sure thing, detective. Shoot."

            "First things first…" Matt snarled, "Like why do you want to meet the clan."

            "Oh, Mattie! What's with the attitude?" the nameless jerk said with mock indignation, "I'm trying to do you a favor. More than a favor, I'm trying to save your life. But say the word and I'll let you die, no problem."

            "Why?" Elisa said, before Matt could start another argument with the guy, "Why are our lives in danger?"

            At this, the man pondered his response before opening his mouth. "That's a fair question, actually. But I can't tell you specifically. It's complicated, you see. I don't understand it too well myself. You'll have to ask the elf. He knows."

            Elisa perked up interested. "The elf? Like Xanatos' assistant? Why, why him?"

            "Because he's the one doing Titania's bidding, of course." Before Elisa could say anything, he amended, "Well, that's not completely correct. I think— let me make this clear, I don't want to get it wrong—" he took a deep breath and said loudly "I _THINK_ he's the one I've been looking for. I _THINK_. I am not sure. That's why I need to see all of you. He's the most likely candidate, but it could be anyone of you. I'm looking for the Key, you know."

            _Now things took an interesting turn. "You're looking for a key?" Elisa repeated. "Key to _what_?"_

            "Detective Maza, you have a nasty habit of repeating everything I say. And it's _the Key. Not a key. __The Key." The man corrected. "And he's the key to the beginning or the end. He's the one that will get to choose whether we all live or die. The knocker on Heaven's door, you could say."_

            "And that makes _you_…?" Matt questioned.

            "The cheerful herald of the destroyer, what else?" the man sneered. "John the Baptist to a Jesus Christ. But… I won't do it."

            "Do what?" Elisa muttered, slightly disturbed.

             "Help him destroy everything you hold dear. Hey, I like this universe. Don't want to see it go down the drain anymore than you do."

            "How's this destroyer going to destroy the city, anyway?" Matt interrupted, clearly not buying a second of it.

            "Well, I don't know. I'm not sure. I'm just the messenger boy. But what can I say? I like you people! I want to save the world! I _care. Save the Amazonian forests! Save the dolphins! Save the whales—!"_

            "Elisa, can I **_talk_** to you for a second!?" Matt burst, not bearing any more of this.

Matt dragged his partner out the interrogating room and locked the door behind them. "Elisa, you're not buying any of this, are you? He bashed Celine Brault's head in and splattered her brain-matter all over the carpet! Now he claims to want to save our lives!?"

            "No, I don't trust him, Matt, not anymore than you do." Elisa replied. "But if he were just a mindless lunatic, how come he knows about the clan? Or Xanatos? Or the 'elf' as he lovingly calls Owen? If he had only mentioned the clan, I could've thought he was merely following me. But he mentioned Owen, and that's tightly kept information. And Titania's name isn't exactly of public knowledge either. Whatever he is, he's up to something. Destroyer or not, it's better to keep playing along until we find out what's really going on here."

            "What is _with_ the destroyer? And I must admit, Mr. Burnett's sudden comeback and the coincidence with this guy's arrest don't make me feel better." Matt replied, "I can't help but think of the 'Ghostbusters' movie for some reason…"

            "Well, considering the strange times we live in, I wouldn't be surprised if a Babylonian god in the shape of a thirty-foot marshmallow man wanted to destroy us after all." Elisa muttered darkly. "Needless to say, I don't like it. I don't like that guy, I don't like what he's proposing and I bet, three-to-one, that if some sort of magical being is _truly_ out there, he's not telling us the whole truth about it. Which leads us…"

            "Back to step one. We don't know what the hell is going on." Matt summarized nicely, sighing like a man who'd been put in this situation far too often. "But you're right, we need this guy…" he gestured towards the door and said, "Back unto the breach?"

            Elisa sighed and rubbed her temples. "We're going to need a piece of proof. I can't go to the gargoyles, not even Xanatos, without being absolutely sure what this is about. So… we're going to need a test."

            "Test?"

            "Yep." Elisa retorted, "I don't think he's a simple 'messenger boy'. Let's see where this guy rates in the End of All Things."

*                           *                               *

"_Proof?" Lester repeated incredulously, "What are you going to do? Quiz me on your personal life? I haven't studied you well, considered you rather boring specimens."_

Good gracious, the arrogance of some people. Maybe if he tossed some more embarrassing facts to their faces they would take him seriously. What else did they want, anyway? He was going to help their stupid little lives out of the goodness of his heart, but if they were going to behave like that…

            "Well, how do we find this 'destroyer' fella?" Maza went on, "You obviously don't know how he looks like. Or even if it's a 'he' to begin with."

            "Oh!" Lester exclaimed, "All sorcerers have special toys and I'm no exception."

At that point, he took out his deck of cards. Normal playing cards with no specific design or logo in the back. He shuffled them like an expert and placed three cards in front of Elisa. A king, a queen and a joker. Then he turned them around and started to alternate the three them. "Catch the Joker, detective Maza, and discover if you are a threat to mankind!"

Bluestone and Maza exchanged looks. "We're a little too old for games, mister. I'm sure you find teasing us hilarious, but we're not going to play along." Bluestone replied. He had proven to be incredibly thin-skinned to Lester. Said he got on his nerves.

"Forget it, Matt. I'll do it." Maza sighed. She hated playing games even more than Bluestone did, but she felt she had no choice. The clan was in danger, judging from this psychopath sitting in front of her. She sighed heavily and stared at the cards. Dammit, she had never been good at this type of game.

So she winged it. Arbitrarily, she chose the card on the left. She turned it around. The King.

            "Sorry." Lester grinned, "Don't be sad, though. It only means I don't get to kill you." He said with malevolent smile. Maza gave him the death glare and handled the card back to him. "Forget it. It's spoiled. Keep it, though. My gift to you." 

            Maza snorted and stuffed the card into her jacket's pocket. "What do you mean, it's spoiled?"

            "Only one card per costumer, I'm afraid. Putting it back would ruin the whole deck. I don't expect you to understand."

            Again, he placed three cards on the table and motioned Bluestone to play. "Your turn, Matthew. You don't look like a mass murderer, but you never know…"

            Bluestone also chose arbitrarily. He happened to come across the two of hearts. "Guess I'm not the guy."

            "True." Lester commented, "You got the most worthless card. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

            Bluestone didn't even bother answering him. Tossing the card to the wastebasket, he asked, "What the hell is this guy capable of, anyway?"

            "Well, I don't know. I told you. I can see everything in the past, everything around me, but only make educated guesses about the future, usually based on what I know. And there's not a lot I know."

            "I think you're lying through your teeth. You _do_ know more than you let on…" Maza concluded, not to him but more to herself, "Because why else would you refuse to speak about your past? Where you came from? Your name, your purpose here? There's so much about you I can't begin to understand."

Lester looked at her. Rubbing his chin, he thought about his next move. The poor little cop had no idea, no idea of how much he could see, not just this present, petty life she had found herself in.

No. Lester Kramer saw everything. But he didn't bother to explain. That, he concluded, would be too cruel for the little girl. God knows how miserable her life had been since that night, so why make her needlessly suffer? It would be so much _fun!_

But, alas, it wasn't practical. Maybe later, when they were all grown up.

            "I suppose I _could_ tell you who I am and why am I bothering with you stupid people, but I feel it would only make you more miserable than you already are. Trust me, my dear, for your emotional sake, its best that I say nothing."

            Maza didn't take off her eyes from him, "How exactly does Titania fit into this? You mentioned this key person did her bidding. What is she up to, then? Titania doesn't look like the sort that'll destroy the universe on a whim. Not by her hand and certainly not using other hands."

            "Well, Titania is a very dangerous person." Lester replied, trying not to sound false, but failing miserably. "I don't pretend to know what she's up to, but I do know it was something…big. There are more things between heaven and earth, and that's counting humans, Third Race, gargoyles, New Olympians and visiting aliens. Such things the wise know to leave alone. Titania is wise, but for some reason she left her brain at the door and went on to do something stupid that got her killed."

            "What does that mean?" Matt interrupted.

            "It means, dear Matthew, that the old girl is not with us anymore. She is stone dead, demised, passed on, no more, ceased to be, a stiff, bereft of life, snuffed it, up the creek and kicked the bucket, extinct in its entirety, an ex-fairy. In other words, my dear detectives… Auntie Titania is dead."

Bluestone couldn't understand, but Maza understood only too well. If he wasn't lying, this mystery was deeper than anyone could've guessed and things were spiraling down a treacherous road to a place she knew nothing about, except that it was there. "Why?" Maza hissed, "What happened?"

"She played scientist in God's backyard and God didn't like it. Don't ask me to explain it to you, because I don't understand it that well. That's the better answer you'll be getting from me. Perhaps you can ask the Key, if you ever find him, before your atoms are blown away."

And he couldn't help it. Oh, he just couldn't help it. His vanity would be the end of him, but he wanted to indulge in temptation. After all, knowledge is worthless if it's not shared. How could he gloat in his wisdom if he didn't have an audience?

            He leaned conspiratorially into the table in front of him and started to whisper. "In the end, she couldn't take it. You have no idea how much insight one can gain in a loved one's death. Unlike Maza, who for some reason turned into a vengeful bitch—"

            "Watch it, you asshole!" Maza snapped.

            "—Titania suddenly understood." Lester continued, without missing a beat, "The essence of the universe, as it were. Listen up, kiddies, for you are about to gain insight into the working of God—" He took a big, melodramatic breath and with elaborate flourish, boomed in a deep voice: "No matter what happens, no matter how much you try to stop it… the meaningful things in life, the parts that really define you and shape your whole life …cannot be changed. Slip ups do happen, yes… but you have to wonder…" He tilted his head and smiled, "…where slip-ups end and destiny begins… Tell me, Detective Maza. Do you believe everything happens for a reason?"

            "I don't understand…" Maza whispered.

            Lester sighed gravely; he was surrounded by idiots and he couldn't bear it. "You try to say something educational, but they just don't listen… In a universe of infinite possibilities, the only constant may be stupidity." Lester sassed back, "You could probably figure it out if you give it enough brains. The language of the world, I mean. I'm sure you're aware of it. The way the cat looks at you. The way a tree sways in the wind. You know the signs are there. More's the pity you can't decipher it to save you life. I guess it's all for the best. After all, ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes."

            "I don't suppose we can persuade you to explain it better?" Bluestone said crossly.

            "No. Wouldn't want to crush your fragile little spirits, now, would I? But going back to business… do I get my meeting with the clan?"

            "I'm going to tell it straight…" Maza replied with an air of sarcasm, "I believe you. Well, I believe only _part_ of you're saying, to be correct. On one hand, you're trying to… help." She said that last word with a healthy measure of skepticism, "…And on the other, you murdered an innocent woman in a pretty horrible way. So you see my dilemma."

            Lester put a hand to his heart and made a v-sign with the other. "I shall be on my best behavior, Miss Maza. Boy Scout's honor. If you're going to believe one thing I said, then believe in my good intentions in helping you try to save the world. I know it sounds dramatic, but you've had enough brushes with the supernatural to not automatically dismiss someone who says the sky is falling and brought a chunk of sky to prove it."

            "Right…" Bluestone spoke up, "But one false move—"

            "And you'll kick my ass, yes, I know." Lester said with a twisted grin.

            "Honestly," Bluestone commented to his partner, "What are we going to tell Chavez? How can we get this guy out of the station long enough for him to meet the guys?"

            "Matthew, you just work your magic. I believe in you! Go, Matt, go!" Lester interjected.

            Sick and tired of the whole conversation, Maza stood up and said, "Let's get him to his cell. We could take him out tomorrow night, Monday. We don't have anything to do and we can take the night to baby-sit this guy."

            "Sounds like a plan!" Lester exclaimed cheerfully, getting hard stares in return.

*                         *                           *

After a long, interesting day with the detectives, Lester was sent back to his jail cell. Apparently, they were going to stall his trip to Riker Island until after he met the clan. He had no doubt in his mind he would be discarded like used chop-sticks the minute they thought him useless, so he went out of his way to make himself as interesting as he could. Which was fairly easy. Enlightened being like himself were _born_ interesting.

The detectives didn't understand. Neither did the tattooed white biker brute with the red bandana sharing the cell with him. When he saw Lester playing with his set of cards, he asked if they could play a bit of poker. Lester neglected the offer with such delicacy he ended up sporting a brand-new black eye.

"Doesn't even hurt!" Lester snapped at the big man as another police officer dragged him to the cell next to him.

With the brute gone, Lester was left alone to ponder the events of today. But even though the wannabe god had no doubt that his desired meeting would come into fruition, he had a nagging feeling of uneasiness with the plan overall.

He had told the truth about not seeing the future. He could only make deductions and draw conclusions from what he saw in the past. Even though he had accounted for all variances and predicted several possible outcomes, the truth was that anything could happen.

Or maybe everything could happen again, which was twice as worse.

_I once dreamt I was staring at the barrel of a gun. A man was pointing at me and I couldn't see his face. Then he shot me. The snotty prick shot me. ME! I remember very well something red got in my eye and I fell to my knees. Blood was trickling down my cheekbone and I didn't look down because I was bound to see my brain matter all over the ugly green carpet. Everything turned white. A nasty headache began. Then I understood._

_This is the way I'm going to die. _

_My only glimpse into the future was to see my own death. Which means I don't have a future. If I don't do something, very soon I'm going to die. No future. No insight into the future because I have no future. All that awaits me is death._

_Damn you, Maza. I know what Titania's trying to do. And while that may be excellent for you, it would be certainly fatal for me. _

Dammit, he hated feeling insecure. His lack of future vision annoyed him to no end. The only thing he was able to foresee was his own death, the one thing nobody in his right mind wanted to see. Seeing the past was ok, but he had to admit it wasn't sure a great power. Now seeing the future— and how to prevent his death— now _that would be something great._

_It's actually unfair. All the power of the past and I have no future. Ironic, isn't it. So ironic._

Well, if Titania wouldn't give him a future, he would have to build it himself. If the little tart actually thought he was going to jump on command, she had another thing coming. If she wasted her life giving this sorry lot a future, couldn't she have bothered to grant him one too?

"Bitch." He muttered.

To read the future, he had to resort to plain old dirty tricks: Tarot Reading. Primitive, yes. Inaccurate too. But it would have to do.

"Hey!" the stupid biker yelled from the cell next to him. "Weren't those playing cards just a few moments ago?"

A brand new set of glossy Tarot cards shimmered in Lester's hands, the normal cards all but gone. He sat in the floor and spread them in front of the biker, for they were separated by bars. All of them upside down. Lester looked at him and smiled. "Would you like to see a magic trick?"

The brute, apparently forgetting Lester's previous offence, leaned over and pressed his head against the bars to get a better look.

"Reach over and pick a card. Any card." The biker gave him a distrustful look and Lester gave him his best reassuring grin. "It's a fortune telling trick. Go ahead. It won't bite."

Curious, the biker took his sweet time choosing one. And he reached out and picked out a card…

The police officers would never know what happened the night Big John was found hanging from the sheets in his cell, hanging like a trout just fished and turning blue with every passing second.

The only witness to his suicide was an odd guy they found playing solitaire in his jail cell, a man suspected for murder. "The poor chap didn't like his future, I guess." He said. And even then, he hadn't told the police his name yet.

The words _'IT'S COMING' scrawled by the deceased in the wall didn't make much sense either._

PART FIVE

The conversation with Burnett left Dennis with the impression that he should be elsewhere. Like another planet.

He was the fifth wheel that should've never been, which begged another question: what _was his purpose, then? To David Xanatos, that is, since his assistant was already back?_

He sooner or later, he would wear out his welcome with Mr. Burnett. If you'd just returned from a vacation and noticed you got replaced, you'd be disturbed too. Dennis had known Burnett was resentful about being cast aside before Burnett knew it himself. He could see it click in his eyes just a few hours ago. Now Burnett was aware and disturbed. And disturbed lead to upset. And upset to unnecessary… whatevers.

Quitting didn't seem like an option. Yeah, right, like he'd be let go after seeing a dead man return to life, because nobody besides Xanatos and a couple of other people knew Burnett was back. Oh, yes, and the talking stone statues in the video. Can't forget about _that_.

Which led to yet another couple of questions: where was Burnett, what was he doing with Xanatos' child, and why was Xanatos so adamant about telling anybody?

What was the big secret?

And should he care in the first place?

"Nothing to do with me," he repeated to himself. "Absolutely nothing."

It was best that he didn't try to figure it out. It would only get him in trouble with the law. And them some. He had never asked for these problems, he only wanted some peace and quiet. He didn't care what everybody said, he had been happy with his life. It wasn't much, but it could be worse. Even if it was simple, uninteresting and boring, he liked it that way. He didn't need gargoyles or detectives or jealous assistants breathing down his neck. 

_Why won't everybody just… leave me alone?_

With that, he went home to his apartment, fed his dog and tried to write his resignation letter. Quitting had to work, or else he'll be screwed.

_Xanatos would probably understand. Not only am I _not_ cut out for this, I'm not supposed to let shadows…_

"…fall between them?" He finished out loud, without meaning to.

That was what the green lady had set him out to do. The lady from his dreams. And then the dream with Mary and the birds and the two persons. Did prophetic dreams exist? Three days ago, he would've laughed at the whole concept. Tonight, he was seriously considering that option…

Prophetic or not, the dreams had a point. He was not supposed to be there. He was a scientist. Dissecting bunnies were his thing. And Burnett was the assistant. If Tiffany had her numbers right, Burnett and Xanatos had been working together for nearly twenty years. That had been no corporate secret.

It was clear to him —hell, clear to anyone that saw Xanatos rush to Burnett's side like a juggernaut— that twenty year old bonds are far too precious to be thrown away.

Dennis was not supposed to be there. It couldn't get any simpler. He was standing in the way, and the green lady or that figment of his imagination had warned him about it. Quitting maybe the best thing he could ever do for those two. In a way, he admired them. Who else would run five floors up for an employee?

Dismissing those thoughts, he cooked his microwave dinner and flopped on the couch with a yellow pad notebook. If anything, they helped him focus and affirm that quitting the job was the best move.

Poking his five minute lasagna, he tried to think of a good way to start the letter. Unfortunately, they didn't cover resignation letters in medical school. All right, how to start?

_"Dear Mr. Xanatos…"_ God, no. He double struck that one. _"To whom it may concern…"_ That's better. _"…I wish to inform that…"_

He didn't know how to go about the next phrase. For some crazy reason, he was starting to think that maybe quitting wasn't such a good idea. He still would like to have his old life back, where nothing interesting ever happened.

But he suddenly got the crazy idea he wouldn't be allowed to have it back.

And he stopped writing.

He decided to think about it for a little while, because it's not right to rush into anything. He chose to have himself a little cup of coffee. Unfortunately, it was that powder mix that you mix with water and don't need milk, which was ok, because he didn't have milk— he didn't have the sort of things you could call 'edible' or 'fresh' in the fridge.

He sighed. He felt so depressed right now.

Maybe he could instant-powder himself out of depression.

So he stared down at his water-based instant-powder coffee, with the look of a person off into his private little world that doesn't require much thought. In fact, he often thought that maybe that was his whole problem, that he didn't think _enough. He was perfectly ok with other people round, but it was when he was alone that he seemed to go off tangents._

But this wasn't one of those moments, precisely because he was analyzing his own behavior. And because of the music.

The music on the back of his mind didn't let him drift into non-thinking.

He straightened himself up and tried to make out the music's origin. It always seemed to be coming from far away somewhere behind his back. For a moment, he felt like a dog chasing his own tail.

_What a sad song…Just what I needed. A neighbor that happens to be Celine Dion fan._

He found himself staring again into the cup of coffee. After a little while, he found himself humming the tune. Hell, he knew this song. He dimly remembered the lyrics; and thought he could write them down he really tried.

_—forgive this…child—I of…waters Wild—_

He wrote down what he thought he heard, but the end result was somewhat bizarre poem that didn't rhyme a lot. 

Maybe he wrote it wrong.

Tired of the song, tired of everything, he decided to start writing that resignation letter again. He ripped the paper with the poem from the notebook, turned into a little ball, and tried to toss it in the wastebasket.

He failed miserably.

Grumbling, he stood up and meant to properly dispose of it like a good citizen, when the coffee cup tilted and ruined his notebook. "No!"

He righted it up and went to the kitchen.

Couldn't been gone for more than a second.

When he returned, the dark liquid sprawled in the desk was back into the cup. The notebook was ok. And so was the paper with the poem, neatly straightened and looking new. Well, not exactly…

There were words.

_Titania sends her love…_

Dennis blinked and wondered if he hit himself a little too hard back in Eerie.

_You didn't,_ answered the notebook.

And he began to panic.

With one hand holding a paper towel in a death grip, Dennis had a staring contest with the talking—technically, _writing— notebook. And for some inane reason, he answered, somewhat absurdly, "I didn't?"_

_The past and the future are going to meet in the shape of a man,_ wrote the notebook. _So says I, the one descended._

"Really? Thanks for the head's up."

Why the **_hell_ did he say that?**

_You're welcomed._

He blinked. His next stop was the floor. His brain and his senses agreed it was the best course of action and Dennis Anderson found himself crash-landing in the green carpet, as human brains aren't just ready for talking —excuse me, _writing— notebooks._

*                          *                            *

He was startled awake by the loud stereo booming next door. 

"_Hey-hey-hey, everyone!" yelled one of those obnoxious-type DJs, "_Its 11:00 am, Wednesday the 27th and this is Socky the Babe here in the luscious Omega station; with me is always the cool and collected Dreadful Dan. So, getting back to the topic of the day: Should we all have meaningless sex everyday? I think so, so does Dan, so lets open the phone lines. Caller, you're on the air, unless of course you're a guy, in which case we'll be having technical difficulties…_"_

It took him awhile to focus his eyes, and even a longer time to realize he was in his bed for some reason. It was weird, because the last thing he remembered was a close-encounter with his carpet.

He was in no hurry to move and would've fallen asleep again if it weren't for that phone call. That annoying, persistent, obnoxious ring of the cell phone. He sighed and drunkenly reached for the cell on his night table. What came out was a garbled, "_Wello_?"

            "_Where the hell are you!?" a loud piercing voice yelled. Dennis was forced to move the earphone away from his ear, for the voice kept on ranting, "_Did you actually think we're going to let you play hooky!? We need you in the office right now!"__

            "Oh. Hello, Tiffany…" he half-said, half-sighed as he rolled his eyes. She certainly could do wonders in waking people up. "Tiff," he began as he rubbed his eyes, "…Why are you calling me now? It's late—"

            "_Of course it's late! You spent the whole night drunk or something?" she replied with doubt in her tone,__ "Really, Dennis, I thought you were bigger than that…"_

            "Night in a…what are you talking about!? Sunset was, what, half an hour ago?" he said, gesturing towards the window even though she couldn't see—

The sun was shining. He blinked several times and walked towards the window. The sun was indeed shining. In fact, it was a beautiful day. A goddamn beautiful day.

He shot a glance to the clock in the kitchen. It marked 11 am. Last time he saw it, it was barely 7pm.

_            "Hello? Hello, are you there?"_ Tiffany went on ranting.

            Dumbstruck, and still staring too hard at the sun leaking through his open windows, he moved the phone to his ear and said, "I'll have to call you back…" and hung up before he heard her complain.

Something told him to take a look at his living room.

Dropping the phone in his bed, he turned around to face the closed door that led to the living room, and looked at it like it was a rabid dog out for the kill.

He had two choices. Open the door or run away scared. He decided to open it. He could run scared later.

Putting it mildly, it had been redecorated.

For now a dozen notebooks with torn pages were scattered in the floor and all over the walls, windows and even the ceiling; the torn pages were pasted to them. _Wallpaper, he thought stupidly_, somebody wallpapered my living room with notebook pages!__

The room now looked yellow. Yellow like his dozen notebook. Sheets of yellow pages, here, there, covering every inch of the room.

He took several steps back until he was against a papered-plastered wall and slid down until he sat in the carpet. He grabbed his knees and simply stared in awe at what used to be his living room. There were papers stuck even on the TV screen.

Almost like an afterthought, he noticed the pages were written.

He noticed all the pages were written, every single one of them. He was surrounded by a thousand words. Every single one of them had something scribbled on them.

"Now what?" he mumbled as he looked up and around, "…now what…? Good God, now what…?"

_ TO BE CONTINUED…_


End file.
